Rather than do more (lessons from cocaine)
What came first - the More Monster, or cocaine?
If I think back to when it all first started, maybe it was when I hit puberty and things started to tense up at home.
My increased appetite as growth hormones hit coincided with me realizing that food could offer comfort. I’d never noticed the feeling of “full” before. Then I wanted more. More full. More stretched. So much comfort it got uncomfortable.
As I put on weight and then came the comments and shame of my changing appearance, then came the panic “fixing” of running, skipping rope, countless sit-ups and any other solution teenage/women/beauty magazines offered for a “trim tummy” and “tighter thighs” and a “bikini ready bod.”
Consume more. Fix more. Consume more. Fix more.
The cycle continued, endlessly it seemed. Til I happened upon cocaine one night. We met and it was like the answer to all my problems had finally arrived.
Now hunger was gone, and still significant comfort was provided. Suddenly everything and everyone was the best, including the pretend version of me that got to exist. And the weight went away, effortlessly.
Of course, the higher you go, the lower you fall. But there was always a fix for that. And even though each high soared less each time, it didn’t really matter. Thus is the singular focus of addiction. Even if the body already knows it’s not working, the mind has attached indefinitely. There is no telling the mind otherwise once it’s decided that a solution has been found.
The certainty itself is addictive.
No uncomfortable thought or emotion or physical sensation needed to be endured. It was so wonderfully quelled by the promise on the other side of a little white line.
And in the morning, my body and mind would be so broken I didn’t have the energy to care. Or to eat. Or to do much of anything.
One of the scariest things about sobriety was weight gain. The feeling of a loss of control - which ironically, being an addict seemed to give to some degree. Because the cycle was predictable. I knew how my body would respond. I knew what remedies helped hangovers the most. I knew how long I could go before using again.
When I quit alcohol and weed too, my mind panicked. And just like that, it turned to food again. Especially sugar. Over the next year I’d go into binge and restrict cycles, again. I thought it was hopeless. It seemed my brain was just wired for addictive behaviour and if it wasn’t one thing it was the next.
I went on a 10 day Vipassana silent meditation retreat in September of 2024 and the question I had going in was, “Will I always be an addict?”
As if the course was tailored for me (lol it just goes to show that our suffering is indeed universal, and not that unique), I got my answer by day 2.
The rest of the 8 days was just me marinating in silence, revealing layer after layer of all the things I was still doing and chasing after, thinking it would grant me happiness.
Places I used to look: alcohol, ecstasy, weed, cocaine.
Places I looked after sobriety: sex, romance, desire, junk food, unhealthy attachment to “fitness,” social media.
Places I looked after that: success, money, achievements.
Places where I find happiness now:
What’s already here.
The sky. The trees. The sidewalk. The steps. The salt in the air. The ocean. Sleep. Birdcalls. Dog. A blanket. Water. A shower. Listening. Being heard.
The beat of my own heart, always within reach, underneath my hand, sounding in my ears.
Not moving on autopilot doing the things I think I “should.”
Not doing more to make up for doing too much.
Noticing the power in stopping. Consuming less. Less of external things, outcomes, and most importantly - my own energy.
The Spanish word for season is temporada. I love this word. It’s been drifting in my head, on my tongue, gently from time to time. It’s where I find comfort now - the temporary existence, experience, and exhales of my life.
What would enough feel like in your body? What would change if you didn’t have to earn rest or relief?
With love,
Vera
